Operation Heartbreak
by LewisMistreated
Summary: New Dehli is recovering from Behemoth's attack. Full, uncensored footage of the battle has been released online. Heartbreaker's mansion is far away from any cape tragedy, but the real world is about to sneak in, and it has a serious vendetta. [M rating for language/violence.]
1. 1,1

His voice was loud, strained, but carrying an unmistakeable note of defiance.

 _"Hey Shitcrumb! Easy—"_

Samuel hit pause on the recording, and then rewind. Frame by frame, the TV played the lightning strike in reverse. The masked, dark-haired figure on the screen rose back to life, arms falling back in, feet finding ground. He paused it again.

"You're _sure_ ," he said for the third time.

Anita rolled her eyes, expression otherwise unchanging.

"Fuck."

She nodded. As if to punctuate his statement, she turned around the tablet in her hands, showing him a thread from the Parahumans Online forum, zoomed in to the point that only two posts were visible. He leaned in to read.

* * *

 _► Forgotten Creator_

 _Replied on July 28th, 2011:_

 _Guy who sacrifices himself for teammate at 1:16 confirmed as Regent, member of the Brockton Bay villain group 'the Undersiders', ex-teammate of Weaver. Girl is Imp, also in the Undersiders. Can't find anything about her online except she's probably a stranger, but Regent is a founding member of the Undersiders, held territory in the city and also fought Leviathan. Master 8._

 _► Ne_

 _Replied on July 28th, 2011:_

 _Damn, a master against an Endbringer? Respect to him for showing up. Weaver at least has her thinker rating._

* * *

"Regent," he repeated aloud, rereading the post.

Anita turned the tablet back around, tapped it once, and showed it to him again. The PHO wiki, Regent's entry. He skimmed the sparse article and multitude of comments, paying particular attention to dates and powers information. Regent was listed as having the ability to cause involuntary movements with an unknown upper limit. There were unsubstantiated rumours that he could take control of people's entire bodies. According to Brockton Bay locals, he'd done it to _Shatterbird_.

"Fuck," Samuel said again, more quietly. Anita lowered the tablet and gave him a triumphant look. "Yeah," he conceded, "I'm sold."

She smirked, and he felt a quick prickle from her power. His feeling of dismay was sapped away. It cleared his head a little, enabled him to think more about what to do next. That wasn't why she'd done it. He didn't mention it, but when his eyes met hers, she pulled a worried face – a little overdone, eyes too wide, bottom lip jutting out – and pointed up to where the master bedroom was on the top floor.

He nodded. She understood the problem. He could hear himself now: _hey dad, we found Jean-Paul! He became a successful criminal and controlled part of a city. Also, he's dead._

His thoughts touched involuntarily on Vivienne and another prickle from Anita drained the feeling away like the plughole in a bath. In the corner of his eye, he saw her lick her lips, tasting what she had taken from him. Fear, with a kind of quiet regret. Nobody else would make the same mistake she had, when she had told their father that Cherie was dead.

"Don't talk about this to anyone," he said.

She stuck her tongue out, giving him a caustic look. _Do I ever?_

He elbowed her in the ribs. "You know what I mean."

* * *

[AN: Welcome to my second ever published work on FF! It's been over two years since I've actually logged back in here. I hope you'll stick with me as this one's actually going to be multiple chapters, probably around 20, which I'll try to release twice a week. Thank you for your attention! ~Lewis]


	2. 1,2

It was four months before Anita met the girl.

It had become a kind of hobby of hers, following the threads of Jean-Paul's life. They had been almost the same age, and while she'd barely had a relationship with any of her siblings back then, she'd spent most of her time with him. It was partially that, and partially curiosity, that led her to dig up the details.

Samuel would tell her off if he found out. As the best-adjusted of the Vasil children, he acted more like a big brother than Guillaume or Nicholas ever had, despite being a couple of years younger than her. He was staunchly committed to ignoring the entire matter, but Anita was...bored.

It was dangerous, she knew, but Heartbreaker wouldn't see anything wrong with her missing Jean-Paul. If he cared to dip into her feelings, he might be perplexed that she was thinking about him, but that was easily explained away. He might cut the feeling, but she wouldn't get into trouble. Not like when she'd...

She cut off her own train of thought. Unpleasant memories.

She didn't regret what she'd done to Clara, but she regretted letting dad find out all the same. She knew, on a clinical level, that she would be horrified about what had happened, if not for him. On the other hand, the girl hadn't suffered. She'd made sure of that.

Jean-Paul – _Alec_ – he had suffered. She hadn't been there to take it away anymore.

She had watched the moment of his death over and over. The way his eyes fixed on Imp, the fact the person with him, Weaver, had recognised what he was about to do. She knew every line of dialogue he had, and all of Imp's too. They'd been like the people on TV: friendly, casual, laughing – but he was a Vasil. He'd grown up like her; worse even, because of his valuable power. More like Cherie: bored all the time, doing things because it was easy, never really feeling anything, unless he had a puppet to do it for him.

He'd found someone to _die_ for.

And there she was, lurking outside the manor wall, clearly visible from Anita's spot in the trees at the edge of the grounds. The girl who was alive because Jean-Paul had saved her. Anita stretched out her power.

She could only affect one person at a time, but her range easily covered the distance. All she found of the stranger was focus and expectation, with a touch of... No good, she couldn't tell without stealing. Positive emotions were so much harder.

Then the girl waved. Anita stared.

When it became clear that she wasn't going to move, Imp scaled the wall with the help of a rope, and entered the manor grounds proper. She landed at the base of Anita's tree, placed her hands on her hips briefly, and then started to climb.

Anita felt her panic rising. She couldn't do this, meet someone, not after last time—

"Hi," Imp said, already only a foot below. "Anita, right?"

That caught her off-guard. She stared again.

"Yeah, I know you. I know you don't talk either so don't worry about that. Show of fingers. How many kids in there?" She jerked the scarf-shrouded chin towards the manor.

Anita counted quickly and held up her hands for ten, ten, then two. After a pause, she pointed at herself.

"Twenty-three including you. How many powered?"

Eight.

"How many women?"

With an uncertain expression, Anita suggested twenty-five.

"Does Heartbreaker ever leave the house?"

The intensity from Imp had slowly been growing, and with it came anger. Instinctively, Anita tapped the anger, sucking it away before it could be directed at her. She felt it swell, like a heat in her gut, but it didn't infect her.

She hadn't answered. Imp let her power go, then forced it off again. "Does Heartbreaker ever leave the house?" she repeated.

Faced with the question anew, Anita almost responded, but she was stopped again by the same uncertain feeling. This person had been Jean-Paul's friend, maybe even his lover. She had appeared after his death, seeking out his family. This could be benign, and asking about the inhabitants of the house merely curiosity. However, that last question suggested a different intent.

She drew her finger across her throat, and frowned deeply at Imp, head cocked to the side.

All of Imp's signals gave way to a surge of determined hatred as she recognised what was being asked. It telegraphed her answer: "Yes. I'm going to kill him."

Anita paused thoughtfully. Slowly, she pulled her tablet from her coat pocket. Imp stiffened, but relaxed when she saw what it was. With a few taps, Anita pulled up a picture of Regent, and showed it to Imp with another questioning look.

"Alec," Imp said, and Anita felt the grief like a tide. She pulled it out, coiling it up inside her instead. Imp let out a sigh, but her voice steadied. "Yeah, him. Were you close?"

She shook her head.

"You know what happened?"

This was a nod. Even if she hadn't, she would have guessed it easily from Imp's reaction.

"Does _he_?"

A fervent shake of the head. She drew her finger across her throat again. Heartbreaker wouldn't kill _her_ , because of her power, but she didn't want to find out his workaround.

Behind the mask, Imp's eyes widened. "Fair nuff," she said. "Alright, here's my deal. I'm trying to be nice, be fair to you and the other baby Heartbreakers, since I've known two of you and it was fifty-fifty on whether you're irredeemable pieces of shit or...I dunno, semi-redeemable. And I've been spying and you seem like the calmest kid in the house. But I can't have the big fucker finding out I'm here, you know?"

Anita nodded, more through self-preservation than understanding. Imp's determination brooked no argument.

"So there's two options. You help me do things the easy way, or I send you home and things get messy. For you and the others."

The others? Anita could do without the others. They were all Vasil, they were all broken in their own individual ways. People outside the household, who hadn't been manipulated by her father...they were so much _richer_. The strongest emotions she spent time around were all constructed by Heartbreaker, and those, she couldn't touch. She'd gladly get away from that.

On the other hand...she was safe at the manor. As long as she kept to the rules, and was good, and quiet, nothing bad would happen to her. She had money, and a family who scared everyone dangerous away. She didn't even have to do jobs. He wouldn't let her out of the house, after Clara.

She considered how best to communicate her decision, and tried a smile. She wasn't great at smiling, never got the response she expected, but it worked well enough. Imp realised she was on board, and the relief was...soothing, somehow.

"I need Heartbreaker's schedule. Does he go out? Whe—" Imp broke off as Anita shook her head. "He _never_ leaves the fucking house?" she replied, voice rising incredulously. "The lazy piece of shit!" A saddening thought occurred to her and she laughed bleakly. "Should've known he got it from somewhere."

 _He_. Jean-Paul again. Anita was beginning to understand why he'd bonded with her. She acted like him, but the feelings behind it all were real. She wasn't pretending, like Samuel was when he looked after her. There was no sense of obligation, no expectation being fulfilled. Imp just _did_ things.

"Alright, never mind. How about this – next time you come down here, bring someone. Another sibling, one with powers. Anything that lets them sense people. Swear it to yourself, right now, that you'll do it."

Anita bit her lip, then made a note on her tablet to remind her. Imp nodded in satisfaction, used her power, and left Anita alone again.

* * *

[AN: That was quick! Hi all. Welcome especially those from r/WormFanfic which does the lord's work in this fandom.]


	3. 1,3

She tugged on Samuel's arm, and he allowed himself to be led down to the bottom of the garden. Complaining the whole way, he scaled her tree after her, and eventually found a perch that was only mildly uncomfortable as she settled on her usual branch with her tablet.

"You're weird," he said, and she kicked him in the shoulder. He smacked at her leg as it fell back. "You know you're weird," he said defensively. "What do you want me here for?"

She shrugged. She honestly wasn't sure why, but last time she was here, she'd apparently wanted someone Samuel there with her. 'Something to show him,' the note said, but she couldn't remember what.

"Is this a Jean-Paul thing again?" he asked warily. She examined the feelings behind the question. It was almost funny how he still pretended at concern for her, when they both knew he didn't care. She could never decide whether to feel scorn or gratitude for that.

He was motivated by fear, instead. Fear that he would somehow be implicated, if dad caught her.

"Yes," came the answer, and they both looked up in surprise as Imp materialised on a branch above them. "Your shitlord extraordinaire of a brother happens to be the reason you're here. It's Samuel, right?"

He stared briefly at Anita, and then lunged for Imp – only for her to apply her power, and he found himself struggling for balance without knowing why he'd fallen. Anita helped steady him, because dad would ban climbing trees if someone got hurt.

There was residual, unexplained aggression in Samuel's emotions, and Anita drained it. Had he been trying to push _her_? She put her tablet away, laying her hand on a nearby branch. This had been a mistake. She shouldn't have brought him. Why had she even—

"Hey dickhead," Imp said, this time from right behind him. Before he could move, she put a knife against his chest and pushed just enough for him to feel the pressure. "Hi," she added in his ear.

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed, and a feeling of pins and needles washed over him. His eyes went to Anita. _Damn, if she's here—_

It was only self-preservation, as far as she was concerned. Anger, aggression, irritation, anything volatile, most things negative, she removed. It didn't work perfectly, but it kept her safer than most. It had been what she'd done on triggering, and had depended on it since.

As the last vestiges of his alarm sapped away, Samuel found himself relaxing. "Um. What's going on?"

"Simple, really. I'm gonna kill your dad. Anita decided she was on board to help. She brought you. Turns out you can't sense me. Figured I'd introduce myself."

Imp was about to add more, but Anita had brought out her tablet again and turned it around. It showed a still from the Behemoth fight. Regent and Imp.

"Oh _shit_ ," Samuel said.

Anita gave Imp a thumbs-up.

"You got it, squirt," Imp agreed. "You're out of your league if you think you can take me down."

"Did Jean-Paul ask you to do this?"

"Not in so many words."

"Well, you've got my help." Despite the way he was struggling to breathe to avoid the knife breaking his skin, Samuel's voice was still calm. "There's a few of us who don't like him. He doesn't let it get far, but we still don't. It's only the big assholes he cares about, Guillaume and Nicholas, because they do jobs. Some of us," here he glanced at Anita, "aren't even allowed to leave."

"Good to know. I'm guessing, by the fact your sister hasn't kicked you off the tree yet, that you're telling the truth." A quick glance at Anita confirmed the assumption. "Sweet. I'm letting you go now."

He pulled away, and awkwardly turned himself around to face her, pushing curls from his eyes. "So what's the deal? Lots of people want to kill him. Buy a gun."

Imp shook her head, spinning her knife between her gloved fingers. "Three reasons. Firstly, that's _so_ not our style. If I'm killing him for Alec, I'm gonna fuck with him first. It's mandatory, and I've got some _great_ ideas."

Anita smiled, revelling in the buzz of Imp's sadism-tinted excitement.

"Second reason is, if I'm doing this, I'm doing this properly. Cherish could sense me. My first and only fuck-up, but some serious shit happened because of it. I'm not taking the risk again that one of your other siblings decides to fuck me over, let alone your dad."

Samuel nodded. "I don't think dad gets past strangers, but without knowing the details, I'd bet Juliette or Martina could catch you."

"And – wait, how did you know I was a stranger?"

Samuel wiggled his fingers. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Imp sighed, and then laughed, looking over his shoulder. He twisted around to see Anita holding up her tablet. She had typed: _Thinker. Borrows senses, including powered ones._

He kicked her, and she kicked him back. He went to retaliate, but Imp swung down and grabbed him. "Don't pick a fight with me, Sammy," she said.

He shook her off. "I'm not the one to worry about. _She_ erases your emotions."

Imp shrugged. "One-way Cherish, big deal. Stop fighting."

Anita smiled, and didn't correct her. She'd already taken care of Samuel's annoyance, but Imp's intervention was pleasing. There was a kind of affection in Imp's feelings for her, and this was new, and rare, and _nice_.

After a moment watching them to check they'd made peace, Imp relaxed. "And yeah, you got me. Stranger four, or something like that; never bothered checking for sure. If you remember me, you'll forget me when I turn it on. A few other bits and pieces. It's a toss-up if it works on other powers though. Yes, I could probably walk in and stab daddy-rapist before anyone can stop me, but then we get problem three."

Samuel nodded. "The girls."

Everyone who had ever been 'rescued' from Heartbreaker had committed suicide later. Most took others with them.

"Smart kid aren'tcha? Got anything to stop them?"

Anita and Samuel shared a long glance. Anita mouthed a name. Resistance flared up in him, and she stole it away just as fast. For a minute, they battled wills, but Anita won. She always won.

He sighed. "Only one master in the house who can overpower dad's influence. But that causes more problems than it solves, trust me."

Imp dropped upside-down from her branch, and her grinning mask came awfully close to Samuel's face. "I'm gonna need you to explain, sprogling."

He glanced back towards the house. He was _so_ going to regret this.

"You need Flor."


	4. 1,4

Anita glared at her tablet, where the alarm pulsed softly. _Go to the tree. Take Samuel and Flor._

She didn't want to. She _really_ didn't want to.

Flor was dangerous. She was dangerous in a way Anita's power could do precisely _nothing_ about. The girl had an emotional range that was almost normal, but used her power whatever mood she was in. A young trigger, and powerful with it, her first act had been to effectively kill one of the wives. Worst of all, it wasn't the wife who had caused the trigger – that was Heartbreaker, of course – but she'd taken the fall for Flor's reaction. She used her power when she was sad, angry, bored, happy, or anything in-between. Anita couldn't predict it, and what her power couldn't predict, it couldn't prevent.

It had been that way since Flor's eighth birthday. The youngest dad ever started trigger attempts, and Flor was lucky enough, or unlucky enough, that the first attempt was successful. Two of the wives had held her down, and he had taken turns with Nicholas to batter her with fear. He hadn't even been in the room for it.

Rhea was probably dead by now, at least. They weren't sure what Flor had done, but as far as Guillaume had been able to see, she'd walked in as straight a line as possible towards the coast. They were pretty sure she'd kept going all the way to the sea, and into it. Pretty grim, but then the other wife had beaten herself to death on the door frame so it could've been worse.

Their father hadn't even been angry. Flor was his new golden child, his latest replacement for Jean-Paul; he encouraged her to experiment with her unpowered siblings, which she did with impunity. The cape kids either stayed the hell away from her, or were immune. Samuel was immune, and had been able to tell them everyone else who was, and who wasn't. Anita was one of the unlucky ones.

She showed Samuel the note, and he shrugged. "It was alright last time," he said, though his mind glossed easily over the specifics. "I'll take her."

He accordingly held Flor's hand as they wandered across the wide lawn in the morning's dewy chill. Flor repeatedly skipped ahead, reaching towards Anita before being tugged back, giggling every time Samuel's arm went taut. They were halfway there before Imp saw them and suppressed her power, which noticeably excited Flor. She nodded along as Samuel explained what they wanted her to do, but kept on tugging, eager to reach the stranger. When she reached the tree she scrambled up immediately, paying no heed to the dirt or the way her skirt was riding up. Samuel followed, and Anita took the rear.

Flor made it higher than any of them, but Imp higher still, supported by her rope. Flor jumped for her legs.

"Whoa!" Imp exclaimed, falling backwards, the rope arresting their fall. Flor laughed loudly, radiating nothing but her childlike callous enjoyment. Imp wrapped her arms around the much smaller girl, hoisted her up, and said, "Hi there."

Flor started making herself comfortable on Imp's lap, grinning like a smug cat might.

"I _think_ she's on board, but she doesn't talk," Samuel said by way of explanation. "And she doesn't get to meet new people...well, ever. But she does like using her power."

Imp was somewhat bemused by the cuddling child, but hugged her back gamely, and Anita felt a prickle of jealousy. Imp needed them now, not her.

 _Unhelpful_. She tapped her jealousy and sealed it away.

"Alright." She tapped Flor's nose, and Anita was glad her costume covered almost all of her skin. "I hear you're a scary brat, but if you'll do me this favour, you can meet all the new people you want."

Flor made happy noises, nuzzling Imp's shoulder. Imp's head turned to Anita: "I guess you're the one who's gonna make sure this gets done," she said. "Keep the kid focused."

Anita reassured her by lifting her tablet, the list on-screen: _Guillaume, Juliette, Martina, Nicholas._ The remaining siblings who might realise she was there.

* * *

The first step was easy.

"Juliette," Samuel said casually, when they were passing each other in the hallway. "I think someone's going to come and kill dad."

She stopped and turned to him. Her eyes met his for a moment. Her face was, as always, utterly blank.

"Just thought I'd let you know, since you tend to enjoy that kind of thing. If you get anything weird on your power, it's probably that."

She nodded.

He strolled on again, moving slightly more awkwardly now that he was also following her senses.

She didn't tell Heartbreaker, or anyone else.

* * *

Flor's tagging of the wives was a week-long project.

Most of them were easy. Their father didn't like doing housework, and the kids certainly wouldn't, so he had them take care of it all. They went about it with their usual orgasmic eagerness, oblivious to anything but his wishes. Flor wandered around the house, poking each of them with remarkable restraint. Some of them didn't even notice. Anita trailed after her, keeping track with her tablet. Whenever Flor flagged, Anita tugged away the distracting emotions, wiping the girl out and temporarily robbing her of her agency. She then pointed Flor to the next person on her power's sensor, and the girl went.

That was eighteen. The other four fell into two pairs: the two new girls, and the two parahumans. She wasn't sure of the new girls' names, or even their faces. They spent all their time in Heartbreaker's room. One of them was the heiress whose house this had originally been, back when they'd moved in three months ago. The other was an abductee some of the wives had gone to pick up.

The parahumans she did know. One of them was her mother, a mid-range mover/blaster by the name of Aviator, whom Cherie had snagged from the Guild while three years ago. The other was Nicholas's mother, a small-time ex-villain. One of the first wives; he was bored of her, but given her powers, he kept her around. Anita wasn't even sure of her name.

Both were in the late stages of pregnancy, sequestered in the west wing under Martina's care. Flor had no excuse to enter.

The project stalled for eight hours, until Anita detected the subdued mix of feelings that indicated sleep from all three. Flor was in and out in ten seconds flat. Standing in the doorway, Anita saw that there were only two rooms: one was laid out with two beds and a chaise lounge for Martina, as well as a sideboard of medical equipment and a modest kitchen. The doorway she could see led to a bathroom. A small, uncomfortable layout.

Martina was immune to Flor's power, but Anita sent a message to Samuel, who appeared and tapped her thinker senses.

Martina had a nebulous power that focused on the physical rather than emotional signals of those around her. She had no master effects, but it made her an excellent nurse. More importantly, the layout of the west wing suggested her range was fairly small, and Samuel confirmed it. As long as Imp was careful, she wouldn't be a problem.

Lastly though, were two wives who were kept in the upper floor. Those would be the hardest of all. Heartbreaker himself would have to be interfered with.


	5. 1,5

Eric was ten, volatile, unpowered, and frankly, Anita didn't like him. He had perfected the balancing act of whining about everything, but not in a way that would get back to dad. He started fights with all the younger kids, and could only be stopped by an appearance from Heartbreaker, or the intervention of someone bigger.

Today, day seven of the Flor project, he had snatched the remote from a crying six-year-old, Nina, and was watching porn in the TV room. Anita, sequestered in the corner under the cover of a book, watched him as he watched the screen. She knew very well that he didn't get a jot of pleasure from it; her best guess was that he thought it was important, because this was something dad did. Constantly.

Nina sniffled from her spot on the corner of the rug and said, "I want it back." She was eight, overgrown blond curls all but swallowing her delicate face. She was a crybaby, but stubborn too. She got up and climbed onto Eric's armchair, reaching for the remote. "Eric," she said plaintively.

He shoved her off, and then huffed in irritation. He changed the channel. Some violent film.

Still whimpering, Nina got up and made another clumsy grab for the remote. Eric snatched it away, smacked her, and rolled over so the prize was shielded with his body.

As Anita watched, Nina looked around the room, searching for allies. She dropped her eyes just as Nina's scan came to her, paused, and then moved on. But there was nobody else in the room.

Instead, she went up to the TV and turned it off.

"Stop it!" Eric shouted, turning it back on again.

Instead of replying, Nina stayed standing in front of the screen, holding out her arms to block it with her body.

"Nina!"

She stuck out her tongue.

With a wordless noise of anger, Eric got up and advanced towards her. Anita put her book down and slid from the room as he hit her again, she began to scream, and they started grappling, him trying to physically carry her out of the way, her kicking and scratching for all she was worth.

Just as Eric's natural laziness began to get the better of him, Anita paused in the doorway and tugged away the feeling, adding it to the store of apathy inside her power's arsenal, so recently replenished thanks to her presence for this small conflict.

Nobody asked, and she wouldn't tell, so nobody knew how subtle she could be, if she so desired. The less useful they thought she was, the less attention Heartbreaker would pay to her. The less chance of another Clara.

The fight went on for another six seconds, Nina screaming louder and louder, until Heartbreaker's heavy footsteps descended the stairs. Anita scurried into the bathroom before he passed, slamming the door and shoving her fist into her mouth as she felt the passing of his anger like an ice-cold fire. She bit down hard on her knuckles, closing her eyes, forcing herself to let it go untouched.

 _It's not for you, it's not for you, you're safe, it'll be okay, it's not for you._

The blossoming of fear in the living room was like a bomb, saturating the whole house. The answering prickles of anxiety from Guillaume and Nicholas as they sensed the impact on Eric and Nina. The flash of her tablet, Samuel, as he messaged her to confirm Flor had succeeded in sneaking into the vacated bedroom. He'd been tapped into both of them as the plan went down, although he was still in the tree with Imp. Most of all was the sound of her breathing, too fast, too high. She tried to focus. Heartbreaker was still standing over the other two, daring them to speak, or even move.

 _We succeeded_ , she told herself, pulling away the last vestiges of that primitive terror, the fight-or-flight adrenaline of _someone angry is coming_.

They'd succeeded. Everyone was tagged. Flor had, presumably, done what they'd asked, and conditioned every wife to hold their breath for five minutes before they killed anyone, including themselves.

Hopefully it would be enough for what would come next.

She got to her feet. Heartbreaker was moving back towards the stairs. She breathed a long sigh of relief, and even permitted herself a faint smile.

Halfway across the hall, Heartbreaker froze.

He turned.

Footsteps came towards the door.

She reached out and grabbed at his feelings, pulling suspicionangerthreatfocus—

 _Terror._

She fell to her knees and curled into a ball as everything went white.

* * *

[AN: Shortish today. We've settled into a nice Wednesday/weekend schedule over here so updates should be regular from now on.]


	6. 1,6

Samuel broke off mid-sentence and frowned. Imp cocked her head to the side.

"Lost Anita," he explained. He tapped on his phone, messaging Flor to request she stop by the second floor bathroom. Through her eyes he watched her creeping approach, caught a brief glimpse of Heartbreaker outside the door, and then Flor turned on her heel and scurried away.

"So, she's unconscious?" Imp prompted.

"Overloaded," he supplied absently, tracking Flor's retreat. Heartbreaker wasn't bothering with her, thankfully. "The connection cuts out if something too strong happens on the other side, like a dangerously loud noise or intense pain and, yeah, dad's punishments."

Imp laughed. "So you don't get Thinker headaches. I know someone who would murder you in jealousy."

He shook his head. "I do. Too many people, one person too long."

With that in mind, he cut his connection to Flor. She was clear of whatever was happening downstairs, and he needed to focus on Anita when she came back. He was catching snippets of her, but nothing coherent. She was crying, and shaking. She wasn't in pain, but she was disoriented. Probably having flashbacks, carried by Heartbreaker's punishment into a spiral.

As gently as possible, he tuned himself into her power's sensor. Her range caused him physical pain if he let it influence him for too long, and if he accidentally read himself with it the feedback loop would put him in bed for a week. Carefully, he did an assessment on the situation from her perspective.

"I think it went fine," he announced to the waiting Imp. "Eric and Nina are still showing signs of the fear hit. Problem is I think Anita got it too. Dad is looking for her specifically. I think he's realised something's up."

"Shit," Imp agreed. "Where're the other ones, Guillaume and Nicholas?"

Samuel shook his head slowly. "Nearby, I think. Within her range." Guillaume was unmistakable, his emotional state shifting minutely every second in response to those around him. Nicholas he had to assume, by the presence in his bedroom. He pulled out of Anita's power, head throbbing. "So she's on her own."

Imp's eyes narrowed. Anita reminded her of Taylor, or how Alec described Taylor when she'd first joined the Undersiders, before Leviathan and Imp's trigger. Timid, beaten-down, but hiding something intense. Alec would rib Taylor just to see if he could get a rise, glimpse a bit of that fire. Bitch was better at it, apparently.

By the time Imp had joined up, there was only Skitter. But maybe, in that video of her announcing that she'd joined the Wards, there'd been a glimpse.

Besides that, Imp knew men like Heartbreaker were bad enough even _without_ powers. Leaving someone alone with a man like that was too familiar. More times than she could count, she had stood up to her mom's worst boyfriends and escaped, only to find they'd taken it out on her mom instead. No amount of fuckery was worth inflicting that on a kid, even a Vasil.

"I don't like drawing attention to you guys for my sake," she said slowly.

Samuel shrugged. "We've all dealt with it before. I _want_ you to fuck with him."

Imp rolled her head back, shouting to the sky, "I want to as well, _so_ fucking much!" She let out a heavy sigh. "But not if it leads to _this_ bullshit every time one of you sproglets gets in on it."

Anita had uncurled from her ball and stopped crying. Slowly, she got to her feet and opened the door. She never would have done that without dad's interference. He was still standing there, arms folded, face both furious and bored.

"You're up to something," he said.

Anita was shaking her head and drawing back against the wall, under the sink. Tears came back, obscuring vision, but hearing was enough for Samuel. There was a long pause as she waited.

Heartbreaker looked down at her and said, "Where did you meet her?"

"He found out about you," Samuel reported, before he realised what he was doing.

Who was he talking to? Who was he talking _about_?

He listened in on dad, but he seemed confused as well. He stared at Anita for a long moment, frowning deeply. Then he slammed her with terror again, just for good measure, and walked away.

"Is he gone?" Imp asked, making him jump.

"Yes."

"Fuckin' sweet! He can't sense me in other people? No way can he sense me directly. We are good to fucking go, Operation Heartbreak!" Imp's voice was exultant, though also fierce. "And best of all, that means _I_ can go in. I just had a genius idea."

She rubbed her hands together, to which Samuel merely raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it _in_ genious?"

She paused. "Yeah, maybe." Then she was off again: "The way to break fuckers like him isn't to go for their actual valuables. Hurt the wives, he'll just get a new one. Hurt the kids, well, it's nothing more than what you do to each other. You gotta get his _dignity_." She drew her knife. "You gotta go basic. Primal."

Anita was still on the floor. Samuel cut the connection; she wouldn't be doing anything for a while.

"Something I learned from your brother. Find how they don't want to be seen, and make it happen. It'll get messy, but it'll undermine him, and that's what really matters. Like being caught naked in public."

"That happen to you a lot, huh?" he asked, and she kicked him off the branch.


	7. Interlude 1

Lisa was in the middle of reconstructing the scene of a botched PRT operation when her personal phone rang. She slipped it from her pocket without looking at the screen before the first trill had finished. "What up, Imp?" she greeted.

"Hey Tats. Favour to ask ya."

 _Needs help: doing something big. Has been away for six weeks: travelled, but not overseas. Canada. Asking for a favour: considers it serious. Didn't ask for help. Personal._

There was only one person it could be.

"Fuck, Imp! Can't he sense you?"

"Shit's under control, _mom_. Some of his kids are fun."

"Oh god, you did not."

"Only some of them. Anita, Samuel, this one cuddlebug called Flor..."

Lisa pinched her brow. She could at least deduce Imp wasn't under a master influence, so things hadn't completely gone to shit yet, but still – this was _Heartbreaker_ , the most dangerous master this side of Nilbog. "Jesus. Alright, let's get this over with. What's this favour?"

"You know those pills you can get for erectile dysfunction?"

"No, I cannot get you ones that work in reverse."

"Oh c'mon Tits, I believe in you."

 _From Tats to Tits. She's got me and she knows it. How is she even planning on getting those to him? What even inspired her to give Heartbreaker erectile dysfunction?_

Despite herself, Lisa found herself smiling at the image.

"You're gonna pay me."

"Didn't you notice? I already did."

The payment notice pinged on her laptop just that second. "So I see."

"Whoo! You're not the only one who can do that psychic shit. Alrighty, I guess you know the address. See you next time I'm in town, yeah?"

"April fourth."

The date of the memorial's completion.

"I'll have his dad's dick to put by the plaque," Imp agreed, and hung up.

* * *

[AN: spent a bit of time working out how the next arc is going to go, so have a mini interlude. Will have a double length chapter for y'all on Wednesday.]


	8. 2,1

Jim grabbed her wrist as she tried to leave.

"Don't be stupid, Calandra," he said, his face so close she could smell his cigarette-saturated breath. "You can't walk out alone. Not here, not this late at night."

She pulled away. It was a piss-poor excuse for making her stay, but it was one with a little weight, given that she was a tall, leggy redhead with a classic hourglass figure. "Come with me, then," she retorted. "But I _am_ leaving."

She watched him pull in the air, trying to calm himself. He'd been trying to stop her going for the last twenty minutes, but she had made up her mind. She'd thought he was fun, interesting, sweet – and he was all of that. But he was also paternalistic, in a way that put her on edge, and frankly grossed her out.

"Okay," he said with effort. "Okay, I'll take you home."

"Thank you," she replied. He got up and pulled his shoes on, while she donned her jacket. They stepped out into the cool spring night.

She sucked in the air, enjoying the slight dampness from the earlier rain. Though the street lights obscured the stars, she could feel their faint, faint light. She was tempted to dim the artificial lighting around them, put up a column of darkness so that the heavens could reach her unfiltered. But no, not in public. Not in front of Jim, and certainly not in front of the man at the end of the street.

She instead twisted the light between her and Jim, allowing her to look at him without turning her head. One of her best tricks; they might even give her a Thinker rating for it, one day. He was watching the man coming towards them, which she had expected. He was territorial, protective, even though this had only been their fourth date. She had to wonder why a guy like him had stayed in Montreal, when he had the money to move. Maybe he enjoyed the excuse it gave him to patronise women.

She reached for the light reflecting from the man, and found a pleasantly pretty, slim face framed by dark curls of hair. He was tall and narrow, dressed in a long grey coat, sticking to the shadows. She thought something about the face was familiar.

Inches before they passed each other on the street, he turned slightly towards them and the next several seconds were the most terrifying Calandra had ever known. Her knees gave out from under her and she screamed, long and loud until a hand was pressed over her mouth. She couldn't breathe, every gasping attempt falling short as the terror crushed her chest and put her head spinning like the world had fallen out from under her. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced, and judging from the sound of struggle beside her, Jim had been affected too.

Gradually, the fear cleared and the hand vanished. Jim was still whimpering in a ball beside her, in the foetal position with his hands over his head. Every now and again he gave a fresh stifled cry, while Calandra was calming down. She looked around. The boy was still there, standing over them, looking... _bored_.

"Calandra Wallace, right?" he said when she opened her mouth to speak. She closed it and nodded. "Sunbeam? Cool."

 _This isn't right. What just happened? He knows my cape name._

She backtracked away from him and crashed into another tall, good-looking man, who reached down and pulled her upright roughly. She pulled at the light around her, darkening her surroundings while enhancing her own sight, but his grip on her shoulder didn't relent. She tried flashing light directly into his face, but he still didn't move, and when she grabbed the keys in her pocket and tried to swipe at him, he dodged and swatted them from her hand. She flashed him again, with as much light as she had. He didn't flinch.

"Give it up," he said instead, dryly. "I can see as long as you can."

Her eyes widened in confusion.

"It's alright," he added, though his flat voice was the least soothing thing she'd ever heard. However, she _did_ feel reassured. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

He walked her away from the main road, leaving Jim and the other man behind. She turned her head to look, but the man with her said, "Don't look back, Calandra." His grip tightened painfully on her arm, so she turned back. However, she twisted the light.

The other man was bending down over Jim's still-curled body. He did something with his hands, and Jim collapsed, uncurling as he fell. Dark liquid pooled around him with alarming speed.

The horror broke through the residual terrified confusion. Altogether too late, she realised what was happening.

 _These are Vasil children._

"Please," she said, and the man beside her smiled a hollow smile.

"It's alright," he said again, and it _was_ alright. She relaxed under his grip, even breathing a sigh of relief. Everything was alright. She kept walking. She forgot about Jim.

They walked almost three blocks before the man with her tripped and fell, sprawling, onto the road. Calandra pulled away and stared as he struggled to his feet, repeatedly collapsing back down for no apparent reason. Every time he pushed himself up with a hand, it shot out from under him, and eventually he gave up.

She heard him growl, faintly, "If this is you, Jean-Paul, I swear to god..."

There was the sound of cackling laughter. Calandra whirled around, but couldn't find the source.

"Hey lady," the voice came again from nowhere. Suddenly, it was very close to her. "Run," it whispered, and Calandra fled, away from Jim, the two men, and the voice, as fast as her legs would carry her.

Guillaume caught his breath as she escaped, but didn't try to get up. Dad was going to be pissed.

"Where are you?" he asked. He couldn't sense anyone but Nicholas, who was reasonably alarmed but not moving. He could still see through Calandra's eyes, though she was out of his range and darkening everything around her, running blind. There was still a chance of getting the job done.

"I'm the ghost of Jean-Paul," the voice announced in an exaggeratedly spooky tone, pitched low. "Come to haunt his dickass brothers after his death."

"You little shit," Guillaume spat, and was about to add more, but suddenly his mouth was stinging and bleeding copiously. He coughed. Nicholas had seen him, but seemed to be struggling with something around his legs.

"I'm serious," the voice pleaded, rising back up to a distinctly feminine tone. "I mean, not literally, but I'm still going to give you shit on his behalf. What even was that abduction? No style at all. Even Valefor did better than that, and he did it in tights."

"Fuck you."

"Here's the thing, big bro," the voice continued. "You can't find me. You can't hurt me. And you were always the worst, the sadist of the group, the biggest kid with the strongest powers. So run back to daddy and tell him something's coming for him, and it's coming for you, and it's something he can't do _shit_ to stop."

Silence.

Why was he on the ground? Cautiously, Guillaume started getting up. He needed to get Calandra and get home. Something had happened, he wasn't sure what, but it didn't bode well.

He had gotten no more than six inches off the ground when hard impact on his back knocked him down again. For a split second, he saw a huge, leering demon face, grinning at him with pointed teeth.

"Just kidding," Imp announced, and kicked him in the head hard enough to put him unconscious.

When Nicholas arrived, he saw the evidence of a fight, and somewhere, someone nervous. He looked around, but didn't see anyone. The nervousness spiked as his eyes met the nearest doorway, and he stayed looking that way. "Calandra? Sunbeam, is that you?" he called casually. He stepped away from Guillaume's body, towards the source of the anxiety. "Did you two fight?"

No response. Why couldn't he see her? A trick of her power? Well, when in doubt... He turned his power on the source.

A strangled cry, but nothing else. No Calandra; no people _anywhere_. He could feel the fear pulsing, the realest emotion he'd ever known, the one he could make people _understand_ – but it hadn't worked. She hadn't relented her concealment, and even as he tried to reach towards the source, he found himself unable to touch her.

"You're scared," he tried, more quietly now that he was right beside her. "I can help."

He turned off his power so that she could respond. Times like this he wished it had a sense of nuance. What he wouldn't do for the ability to induce mild unease, so he could condition people with a scalpel rather than a sledgehammer. No, Calandra wasn't relenting, and probably wouldn't wait around long enough for him to traumatise her into submission. She was already moving past him, and he couldn't exactly wrestle her back home alone. The rope that had been around his legs had vanished somewhere, and besides, Guillaume was the one who could stop her fighting.

It was over, for now. He needed to get home, and get Guillaume home. Hopefully he'd wake up before he lost his contact with Calandra's senses. Dad would be angry, but he'd just send them back to finish the job, which they would.

He stooped to lift Guillaume and found his half-brother limp, head lolling back further than it should have been able. In the dim light, there was a long black line stretching across his neck, thick and ugly.

For the first time in a long time, Nicholas felt real, organic fear.

Guillaume was dead.


	9. 2,2

All jobs had been cancelled. Leaving the mansion was banned even for the unpowered children. The doors were all locked and dad was nowhere to be found. His wives had disappeared into the forbidden rooms of the uppermost floor, doors locked behind them.

Anarchy was quick to fall on the Vasil children. The eldest muscled their way around, commandeering the TV, the computer, and the better bedrooms, where the doors still had locks and you weren't expected to share. The fridge had been emptied within the day, with Anita stockpiling food and barricading herself into the little en suite bedroom on the second floor, hoping to avoid all conflict.

Flor ambled around as normal, drawing on the walls with crayons wherever she went. Sam was taking care of meals for her, since the other siblings scattered when she came near, except for Juliette, immune and happy to tag along. Everything went smoothly as long as Flor was steered away from the kitchen, where the twins and Victoire were waging war with the boys, throwing trash at each other from behind sofas, occasionally scrapping with fists and feet.

Only Martina was walking around as usual, taking whatever she needed for herself and the two pregnant parahumans in her care. While the dwindling supplies were bad news, it was hard not to enjoy the lack of superpowered supervision. Nobody wanted to interfere with her and risk bringing that to an end.

Heartbreaker, for his part, stayed sequestered on his floor, surrounded by his harem, brooding. He had his two new girls nearby: Louise and Sarah, pretty young blondes who could be mistaken for sisters. The others moved around, taking care of their looks, keeping abreast of the news, and worrying silently about him.

Jean-Paul. Cherie. Now Guillaume. He wasn't a paranoid man, but he was frustrated. Why always his best? Precious few of his remaining family had powers that were of use. Nicholas and Octave, both of whom had their own limitations. Florence was the only one who was truly useful, and that would have to wait until she was old enough to be trained.

He sighed, reached for Louise, imparting a spark of lust into her. She gasped and flushed, and as he motioned for her to approach, climbed astride him and opened his trousers. She began working to excite him with feverish hands.

Leaning back on his bed, Heartbreaker stared at the ceiling. Worst come to worst, he could go out himself, pack up and find somewhere new. Travelling was more dangerous without Cherie, but he'd done it once before, when they'd found Jean-Paul. That outing had been a failure, but it had proven he could still elude the authorities when it mattered. They couldn't touch him without risking the death of all his girls. The one Guillaume had been trying to recruit – Sunbeam, aka Calandra Wallace – had to be made to suffer.

It was a couple of minutes before he realised something was wrong. He lifted his head to see Louise, still desperately doing her best with him, but getting nowhere. She glanced at him nervously, and he waved her away. He sensed the sting of rejection she felt, but ignored it.

Just a one-off, he told himself. He wasn't that old, not yet.

There was the faint sound of a giggle across the room. He turned his head sharply, but the girls on the sofa there were perfectly straight-faced, feeling nothing but love and concern for him. They were poring over the laptops, researching US and Canadian cape news, Jean-Paul and Sunbeam. He fed them a little extra focus, a little extra devotion. Perhaps one of them had been distracted.

But no. Another giggle. This time from the doorway. Louise was there, exiting. But there was no amusement from her either. She was crying.

The faintest whisper drifted from the sofa: _"Old man."_

He leapt to his feet, striding towards the offending group. He didn't care who had said it, he was going to—

He tripped at the corner of the rug and fell, face first. His forehead bounced off the edge of the sofa. Half the girls were fleeing his anger; the other half gathered around him, cooing their worry, trying to help him up. To his surprise, as he rolled into a sitting position, he found his leg was bleeding. His cheek, too, now that he thought about it. And his hand. And his shoulder.

Surprising, from a short fall onto a carpet.

He allowed himself to be helped to bed, and his wounds were dressed with tender care. He lay back and turned on the TV. He would deal with the children tomorrow.

* * *

He forgot all about the children on entering the bathroom in the morning.

The word _flaccid_ was scrawled on his bathroom mirror in permanent marker.

He snapped his fingers and the three girls closest scurried to his side. They took in the graffiti with wide eyes. All of them felt genuine surprise.

"Clean it," he said, and they hurried away. Sighing, he used the toilet and as he turned to leave, his hand caught on something. He looked down, saw nothing. After a moment, it moved again.

 _LIMP DICK_ was written on his arm. Another disembodied laugh, unmistakably at his expense.

Rage boiled up in him. This was someone's doing. Someone was fucking with him. One of his innumerable children had triggered, it had to be, but who would _dare_ —

He took a deep breath and relaxed. It didn't matter. They were just childish pranks. He began soaping the writing off his skin. He would _deal_ with the children, and he would get to the bottom of this, in time.

Downstairs, Anita smiled.

* * *

"Is that it?" Samuel had asked with a bored tone, eyeing the bottle of pills in Imp's hand. "He doesn't get to fuck anyone? I expected more, I have to admit."

A glance at Anita had showed Imp that the other girl agreed. She was really going to have to teach them a thing or two about respect.

She had grinned behind her mask. "Oh ye of little faith. That shit's the _distraction_."


	10. 2,3

It was eight days into the erectile dysfunction that Heartbreaker realised his household was shrinking.

Two of his girls had gone out to do the grocery run, and hadn't come back. One other had been, as far as anyone knew, in the garage – until she wasn't. When he'd sent Samuel out to investigate, he'd vanished too.

He tasked a couple of girls with finding out what had happened _without_ leaving, and they'd come back only with rumours that the Guild had taken an unconfirmed number of his victims into custody. No word on the boy.

Once he started paying attention, he realised he'd already lost four of his unpowered children. They were simply _gone_. It had to be sabotage, someone after him. He sent a girl into town – one he didn't care about, she'd gotten uglier with age – with a gun and instructions to start shooting.

Nothing came of that. Again, she didn't return.

Taunts about erectile dysfunction were still appearing, written on all surfaces apparently at random. Now, taunts about his dwindling household also began to appear.

Octave vanished next. Someone had seen him go, this time, one of his youngest. He couldn't remember her name. Apparently, the boy had just opened the front door and walked off the property. He had interrogated Flor, who could've done such a thing on whim, but it had yielded no answers. Every time he asked a question, she seemed to know, but then got confused.

The front door was supposed to be locked. He walked to the end of the drive to see for himself the open gates, verify there had been no struggle, no foul play.

 _IMPOTENT._

The word was emblazoned on the gravel in spray paint. He kicked it in anger and strode back to the house like a storm, sending his girls out to summon his cape children to the dining room.

It was time to get serious.

Anita knew why Imp hadn't taken her away, like she had Samuel and Octave. She was still necessary to the plan, in keeping everyone safe. She hated it, but it was Imp's plan, and it was going well so far, and...honestly, none of that mattered to her. Simply to be _needed_ was a wonderful feeling.

That didn't stop her trembling when she was summoned to the dining room and sat before her father, who brimmed with suppressed fury.

He glanced over them, dark eyes moving with a cold disinterest that had once bothered Anita, but now was reassuring. She wasn't in trouble. Yet.

"Remind me who you are," he said after a moment.

The children gave their names in turn, and at his expectant look, summaries of their powers. Flor was kicking her chair, staring at the ground, and Juliette spoke for her. Anita concentrated on her fear as she held up her tablet, so as to not give anything else away. She winced as he read, but forced herself to embrace the feeling, the shame and anxiety. Heartbreaker wouldn't find her relationships unless he went looking, and even then, Imp would have to be suppressing her power... But she couldn't go through another Clara incident. She hated being able to sense her own fake emotions, and being unable to get them out. Knowing she was living a lie, that she should be grieving, angry, guilty... It was better to be scared. At least the feeling was hers.

Heartbreaker was talking. She forced herself to pay attention.

"Fall in line. None of your bickering and childish shit, not this time. This is a _job_. I want the troublemaker found and brought to me before anyone else disappears."

There was only one person _that_ could be, but she didn't focus on that thought. She stayed attuned to her siblings' moods, absorbing them minutely from every direction. It was a trick she had learned from Guillaume to keep Heartbreaker from seeing too deeply into her. It worked, as long as she was surrounded by people, as she was then.

She finally knew which one of the two eldest sons had died, at least.

"Nicholas, take charge," were Heartbreaker's only other words. Then, abrupt as always, he turned and departed from the room. To Anita's shock, the word _FLACCID_ had been scrawled on his shirt, clearly visible, in marker pen. He turned as he noticed their reactions, and one of his accompanying girls tugged his arm and whispered in his ear. His mood darkened, but Anita sapped it away slowly. He raised a hand, dropped it, frowned, and left the room.

Martina had both hands over her mouth, trying not to laugh. Flor didn't seem to have gotten the joke.

Nicholas was self-styled as 'above that sort of thing'. Instead he stretched, sighed, and flicked his blond curls back from his face. "Order in the court, dicks," he said. When they looked at him, he sneered at Camille. "We don't need you for this. Go sit on the roof or something."

Unspeaking, Camille rose and left the room. The only child who had inherited Aviator's powers instead of Heartbreaker's, they had triggered a year after she'd been taken, and would have fled the family there and then, if not for Nicholas bludgeoning them with terror the second he crossed they threshold to outside. Since then Camille had been little more than an anxious wreck, conditioned over the months with severe agoraphobia because of the literal flight risk. Anita took a little of their quiet despair as they went, for her own sake. They had been close to suicide for a couple of months, but she wouldn't let that happen. Dad would be intolerable if _another_ child disappeared. He'd already banned school, day trips and keeping people for their own use. She knew he'd find something else to ban if he was given reason.

"Anita, Juliette," Nicholas said, returning her attention to the room. "You're the only ones of us left who can properly sense people, while Martina's busy. Patrol the house."

She nodded, eyes downcast, hiding her satisfaction. She couldn't sense Imp anyway.

Juliette didn't respond at all, but got down from the table and left the room.

"Martina, you do whatever with the ones upstairs. Don't fucking wander off. Flor," he sneered slightly at the name, "guard Martina's room, because if she gets fucked with we're all doomed. You got that?"

Flor grinned at him, unassailable in her own world, uncaring for his obvious dislike. She climbed up and over the table to latch onto Martina, who staggered under the weight but kept moving as they all went their separate ways.

Nicholas, for his part, was taking a position by the door. If anyone wanted to get out, they'd have to get past him, or jump out a window.

The latter was, of course, the plan.


	11. 2,4

Imp was doodling on a notebook when Camille arrived at their usual exit window. She flickered into visibility, and watched the younger teen stumble backwards in shock. "W-w-who are you?" they asked timorously.

She hesitated, but she had been primed on how to handle Camille by Anita, who had a worryingly detailed picture of everyone's mental health. She raised a hand slowly, and lifted up her mask, enabling her to offer a subdued smile.

"I'm the one spiriting the kids away," she said.

Camille reached for the wall, clearly unnerved. "Where d-did you come from? What do you want with m-me?"

Imp raised her hands quickly. "Whoa, I don't want anything with you. It's okay."

A brief, confusing mixture of relief and disappointment crossed Camille's face. Then it was gone, subsumed back into the pervasive anxiety that seemed to overtake their every other emotion. "Then why are you t-t-t- _talking_ to me?" they said with effort.

"Because you don't _need_ me. You can just up and leave."

"I c-can't."

"You can _fly_ , you idiot. You can do whatever the fuck you want. Go be a hero, or a villain, or a normal person. We're all ground-bound here. What do you think big daddy's gonna do, fly after you?"

But Camille was shaking their head. "You don't under... _understand_. He sends people after you, if you leave. H-He sends _Nicholas_."

"I know. But you could be in France by sundown. How could he ever find you? And, I don't say this to be a dick, but...do you really think he'd care enough to look, when his precious Flor might be vanishing next?"

It was a low blow, but it worked. Camille sagged, looking at the floor. "Mm."

Imp's phone buzzed: Anita was draining Camille's anxiety for her, unasked. Such a good kid. She put it down, giving Camille her full attention. "Okay, so you're gonna run, I'm glad. But first..." she grinned wickedly. "How would you like to help me fuck with the old bastard?"

Camille didn't smile, and hadn't for years. But they said, "What do you want me to do?"

* * *

Single-minded as he was, Nicholas stood at the front door for eight hours. Anita and Juliette wondered the house a few times, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Flor, though she napped for most of it, stayed put outside Martina's room.

That was the best bit, really. She really did guard it, and nobody got past her.

Imp came in through the window.

"Camille?" Martina exclaimed, backing up from the wall, moving down between the two beds of the two pregnant women, who were struggling to look. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Hi," Imp said, ignoring the question and sitting on the windowsill. "Camille is just giving me a hand. I wanna talk." She waved, and Camille settled down at an easy hover outside. They still looked tense and pallid, but they stayed put.

"Who are you?" Martina demanded, reaching for the knife she kept with her. Before she could grasp it, she forgot what she was doing. Why was her heart beating so fast? Her power alerted her to the agitation of both wives, and she moved into the en suite bathroom. She ran two flannels under the tap, as the door slowly pushed to, and then clicked shut. Then a grinning face appeared in the mirror before her.

"Gah!" she cried, flinching away.

"Shh!" Imp hushed her, stepping in front of the door.

Martina stared at her in horror, but did fall silent. That was one good thing about Heartbreaker's kids; they understood fear, and it made them obey. Sad, but useful in a pinch.

Imp didn't want to trade on that though, so she relaxed against the door and put on a cheerful tone. "Listen, kid." She was twirling Martina's knife in her gloved fingers. "Here's my deal. I'm gonna kill your dad. When I do, half the Guild, if not _all_ of it, is gonna storm the house. They're gonna take anyone they find into custody. That means Uncle Sam – wait, what's the Canadian Uncle Sam? Maple Mom?" She cocked her head, but Martina was too bewildered to respond. "Anyway. It means the government are gonna take control of your life."

Martina gritted her teeth, raising her chin. "So what, am I supposed to stop you killing dad? Because I'd rather take my chances in the system. I'm a thinker with medical applications. They'll love me."

"True. Plus you're pretty sane. Aside from the torture thing."

Martina's eyes widened, and Imp snickered. "Yeah, I know about that. Pretty fucked up, but I've rolled with people who did worse. Point is, I'm offering a third option." She stabbed the knife into the counter and extended a hand. "Ride with me."

"Who even _are_ you?"

"Imp. Brockton Bay badass. Fought Behemoth"

"And you're what, a vigilante?"

"Nah, nah. This is personal."

"Are you where the others went?"

"Yep. I've got Sam, Octave and Cam, plus Lillian, Norman, Neil, Poppy. Had Victoire and Georgia too, but they decided to make their own way."

Martina considered it. Good as she was at nursing, it was far from her favourite thing to do. Without Cherie it had been impossible to lure people to the house for entertainment, and things had gotten boring since the pregnancies. Leaving the house had been unthinkable, but now it seemed possible. Enticing.

"What would we be doing?"

Imp shrugged. "Cleanup. Your dad's left victims all over. We take Flor, we hunt them down, we fix 'em."

"You know some of them are parahumans, right?"

It sounded distinctly like Imp was grinning. "All the more fun for us. After that, I've got territory to run. Back home. It's a sweet life."

"Alright," Martina decided. "I'm in. But what about the women in there? Livewire's got complications, and can't use her powers in an enclosed space, but Aviator would be able to chase us."

Imp offered her the knife. "That's what I'm hoping."

* * *

[AN: Coming up next, something ever-so-slightly vaguely kind-of if-you-squint-at-it-real-hard resembling an action scene! I didn't intend for this to be mostly dialogue but it won't all be like this. Promise.]


	12. 2,5

It took about three minutes before Martina started questioning why she'd ever thought this was a good idea.

Camille was carrying her piggyback style, her arms locked around their neck, as they flew in a dogged zigzag towards the boundary of the mansion where Imp had told them to land. Aviator might have been eight months pregnant, but she was fast, and was only keeping her distance because she wouldn't jar Heartbreaker's baby with sudden turns or stops. The wind ripped past them as they spiralled and doubled back once or twice to keep distance, and Martina's power meant she could feel Camille flagging, getting tired and cold.

Then they crossed the boundary of the mansion, and moved out of Anita's range. Suddenly Martina felt a rush of adrenaline and cortisol from her half-sibling, heart palpitations, and within seconds, hyperventilation. _Panic attack._ The agoraphobia was back.

She tightened her arms around Camille's neck and shouted, "Finish the fucking job, Cam. If you take me back there I'll fucking kill you."

They shook their head, slowing. Martina could feel the sweat building up over their skin, the tremors in their arms. She squeezed harder. "I won't be quick," she told them. "You know dad doesn't give a shit about you. I'll strip your skin off. I'll cut off your ears and nose and lips and gouge out your eyes. I can do all of that without killing you, with my power."

When there was no response, she dug her nail into their neck. At the right angle, she was able to pierce the skin in a flap, and did so slowly, so Camille would feel the tear. _Nausea. Mild asphyxiation._ She loosened her grip. _Cortisol lessening. Adrenaline crash imminent. Energy dropping._

She craned her neck to see Aviator, who was gaining speed and closing the distance. Martina had just about resigned herself to getting caught when they went into a dive.

She tried not to scream as they headed fast for the broken skylight, and for several terrifying seconds she thought they weren't going to make it, until they were through, and Camille brought them to a sudden halt – or rather, _Camille_ halted, their power protecting them from the inertia. Martina kept moving, slamming into them and then tumbling to the ground.

She spat dust from her mouth and sat up, rubbing bruises. They were in a large, airy loft with no interior walls. She was surrounded. Her power told her the exact number was six people, not including Camille. All a little cold and hungry, one injured.

Aviator landed seconds after them, sending a deafening crack through the concrete floor. The kids swamped her immediately, grabbing onto her arms and legs, and then Octave stepped forwards and tapped her on the arm. She went still immediately.

"Hi, Livewire," Octave said in his soft prepubescent voice. "No wait, shit. One sec." He tapped her again. "Hi, Aviator," he said in the same tone.

A blissful smile spread across Aviator's expression. "Hi," she said. Her voice was cracked with disuse.

"I need to go," Octave said, meeting her eyes and smiling in return. Martina winced at the expression; Octave's smiles were worse than even Anita, wide and thin with squinting eyes. "It's okay, it's okay," he said quickly as Aviator reached out to grab him, to stop him going. "Let me go. You can see me again if you go to the Guild HQ in Ottowa. You can fly there by tonight, right?"

She nodded mutely.

"Okay. You need to go straight there, or you'll miss me. You can't talk to anyone else, and if you get there and I'm not there, you _can't_ hurt anyone. Okay?" He waited until she nodded again. Then he said, at the pace normally reserved for a toddler: "What are you going to do?"

A slow blink. "Fly straight to the Guild in Ottowa." Her expression twisted into a pitiful, helpless look of pleading, bizarre for an adult. "You'll be there, right?"

Awkwardly, he patted her on the arm. "I will. I promise."

He turned and walked down the steps. For a moment Aviator reached out a hand, as if to stop him. Then she blinked, shook her head, and took off. Once she was gone, Octave came back up.

Samuel took out a cellphone, dialled, and put it to his ear in the silence that followed, as the kids dispersed. "Hi, just a tip-off. You're gonna have a flier incoming later this evening. Name's Aviator. She's under a master influence. Two, actually. First one is Heartbreaker's. Nothing you won't have seen before. No, shut up, listen. The second effect is addictive. She's looking for Octave. _Oc-ta-ve._ That'll wear off at about," he checked his watch, "half nine. After that she'll be really fucking angry for about an hour, so foam her or whatever. Also she's pregnant." He glanced at Martina and raised an eyebrow, and she held up eight fingers. "Eight months. Yeah, Heartbreaker. Like I said."

He hung up before they could ask who he was, and looked at Martina and Cam. "Welcome to the, uh, warehouse. Imp will be here in a bit. She'd want me to tell you that you can do whatever, but if you're gonna commit crimes try not to get caught. She's got us food and stuff in the basement but she keeps the key because _someone_ ," he shot a glare at Neil, "keeps trying to stuff his fucking face."

Camille looked around, and headed for an alcove at the other end of the dusty great room. Martina could feel their exhaustion, the adrenaline crashing and leaving them reeling. There were a few camp beds around that corner, under the window, piled liberally with blankets. Some chairs. Bottles of water, snacks, trash, and a big sign upon which was handwritten, _STAY OUT OF TROUBLE_.

It was a shit-tip, she thought. But it was better than being at home.

* * *

Back at the mansion, Flor heard the commotion inside the west wing and texted Juliette. She swung by on her 'patrol' and stepped into the room just in time to see Livewire struggling to reach the phone on the sideboard. Before she could reach it, Juliette moved over and grabbed her ankle, eyes closing. For almost a minute she stood there, resisting Livewire's attempts to kick her off, and when she let go, Livewire blinked confusedly and turned away. Juliette let herself out.

"Nice one sproglet," Imp said, once the door had shut. "Now c'mon, I wanna talk to Nicholas again. Last time I think I almost had him, till you said that thing about Guillaume."

Juliette smirked. "Let me talk to him on my own. I can sort it out."

"Pfft. Go ahead if you think you got a shot."

* * *

[AN: end of arc two! I've got three arcs in total.]


	13. Interlude 2

Lisa groaned, massaging her forehead with her free hand. "You honestly thought that was a good idea."

Imp blew a raspberry. "So I underestimated her. That's not the point. Point is the Donglord is out for her blood, but I _need_ her so I can recruit the kids without getting my cover blown. She wipes memories. If I fuck up, she's my reset button."

"Clever," Tattletale acknowledged. "I mean, you could've just killed him first, then asked them."

"Where's the fun in that? You _know_ I gotta fuck with him."

She sighed. "Yeah, I know. So Aviator got into custody, Nicholas is dead, who have you really got left that's a priority? The other capes?"

"Livewire. She can't use her powers but she's also due in like two weeks."

"I read the messages from the nurse kid. Best I can figure, she'll go into labour on the eighth, and you can't wait that long."

Heartbreaker had sent out messages calling some of his scattered subjects to his location. From what Imp had overheard, this included people with military training, and some small-time capes. She had a deadline now. "Fine, I'll get her out tomorrow."

"Also, she's got a good chance of losing the baby. I ballpark thirty, forty percent.

"I know." Imp's voice was contemplative. _Distracted. Something I said. Miscarriages, pregnancy, complications, unfit mothers. Her mother was pregnant._

 _Damn it_.

She took pity. "Extract her ASAP and taxi her to a hospital. I recommend...Ottowa General. Tell the papers, _then_ the Guild. They'll see that she has the best care, for PR's sake. After that, though, I'd really consider getting your hands on the kid. Ditto Aviator's. Without Heartbreaker, Livewire won't have any interest in it. Kid deserves a family who can handle its inevitable terrifying powers."

A brief pause. _She's wondering if I figured it out._

"Thanks."

Imp hung up.

* * *

[AN: just a little something to tide us over so I can finish writing the final arc and make sure everything fits together. Bear with me!]


	14. 3,1

It had been a fortnight since the words first started appearing, and his household was a quarter of its size. He hadn't had sex in what felt like _forever_ , and every time he turned his back on his girls he caught whispers. Some of them concerned, some of them mocking, but _still_ , there was no trace of scorn in their emotions. He had ordered them to be silent, to no avail. Sometimes, he even heard the whispers when he was alone.

And if only he knew _why_. Some of his girls were smart, resourceful, he had put them to work, contacted his moles and sleeper agents, but all they had come back with were the same old stories. Cherie and Jean-Paul. Even he was dead now, fighting Behemoth like a fool. There were no Montreal capes who could be doing this, and evidence suggested if someone had triggered near him, he would have known.

He had a few parahumans abroad, but without being able to reach them with his powers, he couldn't call on them for anything unusual like this. They were programmed to keep track of his files, watch for any news about his children, cause trouble if anyone got too close to attacking him. He had heard nothing through them; whoever this was, they were working alone. But he couldn't leave the property with nobody left who could defend it.

Of his powered children, only Anita remained. That gave him some small satisfaction. She wouldn't disobey him lightly, after last time. The girl was all but useless, though. She'd failed to find out what was happening, and she'd failed to stop anyone escaping. Somehow, she'd even been absent when Nicholas was murdered, _and_ she'd let Juliette escape afterwards.

Was it Sunbeam, come back to murder the boys who had tried to abduct her?

But where were the others? If he had Guillaume or Cherie, he could have found out. Anita was useless; she couldn't tell people apart effectively.

Useless. Futile.

 _"Impotent."_

He jumped. The whisper had been right in his ear. He turned, lashed out with fear at everyone he could sense nearby, but there was only a soft giggle from the girls on the sofa, though all of them were cowering and crying.

 _"I'm coming soon."_

"Who are you?" he shouted, lashing out but not making contact with anything.

There was a pause as Imp considered her options. What would scare – or better still _annoy_ – him the most?

 _"It's Jean-Paul, dad."_

"Bullshit," he snarled, moving back towards the girls and gathering them around him as shields. "The whole fucking world saw you die."

 _"Oh, you saw that? Well you see, it turns out when I die, people who I'm controlling...well. It's more fun if I show you. Let's see, who here have I hijacked...?"_

Heartbreaker didn't reply, but his eyes flicked to Marianna, clutching one of the other girls in their circle. Imp's grin was audible in her voice. _"Ah, that's right..."_

Marianna froze as Imp grabbed her, locking her arms to her sides. Her eyes widened in fear, but years under Heartbreaker made her unresisting. She stayed like that for a long moment, crying absently, as Heartbreaker watched without intervening.

 _If it's Jean-Paul, that's how he's getting them out. He's walking them away. The girls can't kill themselves if he's controlling them. It would explain why he murdered Guillaume, who was immune to him. But how is he here?_

Another mocking laugh. Marianna's breathing stuttered and she began to choke, before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed to the floor.

"Check on her!" he snapped, and they knelt by her side, turning her into the recovery position and confirming she was still breathing.

 _"I'm going easy on you,"_ came another whisper.

Imp was already halfway across the room by the time he was trying to retaliate. He looked ridiculous, wearing nothing but a robe, furious, and blindly waving his arms around. She took video and sent it to Tattletale. A kind of thank you present for her help.

He only managed the violent rage for a couple of minutes before Anita took care of it. Heartbreaker visibly deflated, scowled, but crawled into bed.

Imp perched next to him and waited. She idled the time away on her phone, collating messages from the various kids scattered about Montreal. They were raising seven kinds of hell but they were doing it separate from each other, with the promise that if any of them killed anyone, she'd leave them behind. She couldn't do much more.

Eventually, she noticed his breathing starting to even out. The girls had all filed out, none of them daring to cuddle up to him after his mood. The ones who lingered were easily steered away with gentle pushing, confused but compliant. Once they were all out, Imp locked all of the doors, hid the keys under the bed, doused the lights and opened her bag.

It was two nights before the first of his reinforcements were due to arrive.

 _Just me and you tonight, old perv._

She waited until she saw the eye flickers of deep dreaming sleep, then let off a party popper next to his ear. He jolted awake, half-rising and looking about in that telltale half-seeing way thinkers did. Finding nothing, he gradually eased back asleep.

 _Bang!_ She gathered up the confetti before he could see. This time he actually got up, swearing to himself, and fumbled about the room, but she stayed out of his way easily.

This was the weird thing, really. She hated waiting, she hated sitting still, all of this patient, subtle power play nonsense her brother had found so useful. She didn't want to give off the right impression, she wanted to _earn_ it. But when she was doing that, like now? She could almost reach a kind of patience.

On the sixth time, about four AM, he threw a tantrum and went for the lights. When he did, he saw what she'd been doing in the dark.


	15. 3,2

For several seconds after he turned on the light, Heartbreaker only stared.

The room was only dimly lit; she'd unscrewed all but one of the bulbs from the ceiling fixture. Across the space opposite his bed was the banner Imp had confiscated from Juliette – _"DAD'S DEATH DAY"_ in adorable pink glitter paint. It hung above a clutch of black balloons, and there was confetti strewn on every surface. As he read the banner, she even took a moment to put some on his bed.

Upon the walls, in the same black marker she'd been using all fortnight, were the various insults Alec and she had dreamed up for him. Her wrist actually ached from the amount that she'd written. _IMPOTENT_ was her favourite, of course – it had two meanings, _and_ her name – which he was staring at now.

As she watched, sweat beaded up on his forehead, and he glanced around nervously. He read the walls, lips moving, frown deepening. He patted his pockets for his phone, which she'd stolen. Then he went for the door to the hall. He placed his hand on the handle, and recoiled, a wet red smear coating his fingers. "Shit!"

For several seconds in the dim light he stared at the gunk. Imp leaned over him, watching his expression. With a sickened grimace, he wiped it off on his robe. Standing on tiptoe, she blew some air on the back of his neck. He shuddered, raising his clean hand to cover it, looking around. She waited.

After several seconds, he went to the door to the en suite, and touched the handle cautiously. Finding nothing, he tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. While he was struggling with it, she climbed the dressed and emptied a bottle of the fake blood over his head. He lurched backwards, tripped on the rug, and fell over. He pawed frantically at his hair and eyes as the thick liquid ran down his neck. "Shit, shit, shit!"

He reached for the coverlet to wipe it away, so she grabbed it. He tugged hard, she held on, and eventually he yanked it so hard it ripped. He used it to absorb most of the blood, balled it, and tossed it into the corner of the room. His skin was still smeared red, from which his eyes glared white and wild. He was breathing hard, hypervigilant for the next unexplained event. She made him wait for several minutes. When he started to relax, she trickled a thin stream of droplets down the back of his neck. They oozed slow and cold down his spine, and he lurched to his feet, running to the window, grabbing it, trying to open it. She kept drip-dripping the blood down his neck as his movements grew faster, more urgent as he struggled with the window latch, jiggling it violently until it snapped. "Fuck!"

She let out a soft giggle beside his ear. He jumped, lashed out with an arm. Then he froze.

On the wooden floor, letters were appearing, daubed one by one in the same deep crimson blood that was all over him. Tortuously slowly, they spelled out their message, as he watched, frozen to the spot.

 _I-M C-O-M-I-N-G F-O-R Y-O-U._

After half a heartbeat the period smeared into a line, moving towards him. He leapt back, and as the line followed, gingerly circled around the writing to the rug, panting aloud. He pulled open the dresser draws, searching for the key to the window, and found all of them empty even of their normal contents. He scoured the room, leaving smears everywhere he touched, but all the drawers and the wardrobe had been emptied. Even the laundry basket. All of them were marked instead with splatters of blood.

As he turned, she tripped him again and he landed hard against the floorboards. Under his eyes, an invisible finger traced smaller letters.

 _ANY LAST WORDS?_

He began to hyperventilate. "I-I..." he stammered.

Imp laughed. He froze, frowned in concentration, fists clenched. He still couldn't find her, of course.

She drew her knife and cut his arm. He didn't seem to notice the pain, but scrambled to his feet started pacing. She followed him, cutting and cutting, until he was bleeding from every limb. She even got one over his forehead as he paused by the sofa, remembering what Brian had said about head wounds bleeding over eyes. Soon he was wiping blood from his face every few seconds, and after a minute he came to an abrupt stop in front of the mirror and realised it was _his_ blood. He put a slow, disbelieving hand to the forehead cut. "Martina!" he shouted. His voice wobbled. Then he frowned, remembering that she was gone, and called, "Girls!"

Imp heard them on the other side of the door, knocking and calling questions.

"Break down the door!"

He'd barely finished the sentence before she stuck her knife in his mouth, cutting both corners of his lips. He pressed a hand over it, pulling back into a corner, raising his other hand defensively. His eyes moved about the room, but there was only blood, taunting ink, and faintly laughing air.

Imp nicked his cheek, slowly, methodically. Tiny cuts, no more than an inch, in neat rows across his cheeks. He flinched at every cut, tried to cover his face, whimpered aloud. "No...no..."

Over his voice came loud banging at the door. Imp sighed, prompting another shiver from Heartbreaker. The girls might be able to get through, even with Anita running emotional interference, so she should probably get on with it.

She stabbed him in the eye, eliciting a howl of pain, and then as he stumbled forwards, tripped him for the last time. He fell ungracefully, limbs sprawling, robe coming open as he tumbled and rolled to a stop near the bottom of his bed.

For a split second, she appeared over him. Long enough for him to see her face and sense her intent. Not long enough for him to change it.

"You're not...Jean-Paul..." he hissed out.

"You got me," she agreed dryly, and with a quick slice of the knife, cut off his dick.

She wasn't _really_ going to put it on the monument, but it seemed like the right thing to do. She chucked it away in disdain, and burst into laughter when she saw him turning his head to look at it, his eyes widening in horrific realisation. His blood-soaked hands reached downwards.

Maybe she should've filmed this for the kids.

Nah. It would be her secret. She didn't want to give them any ideas. And if Alec was watching, he'd be the only person enjoying this with her.

What surprised her was that it wasn't fast. Though the girls continued banging at the door, occasionally breaking off to cry or argue as Anita interfered, they didn't get through. Imp sat on the bed, elbows on her knees, watching Heartbreaker crawl around the room. He went to the door and begged against it for someone to come in and help. He cried for Aviator to come through the window, and then for Camille, and then for Guillaume. He dragged himself to the corner where his severed limb lay limp, and sat with his head bowed as if over a grave. For a little while he screamed with rage, and he also threw up more than once as he glanced down at the gored stump.

For a few minutes he cried apologies to Jean-Paul, begged forgiveness and mercy. Imp was tempted to cut his tongue out for daring to say the name, but it was also satisfying. She settled for pouring the last of the fake blood into his mouth as he spoke. He choked, spluttered, pawed at his mouth, sobbed, covered his face, wailed in terror, curled into the foetal position, and began to sob. He clutched his crotch and wheezed despondently. Gradually, his breathing became fainter. She crept closer to hear it, to listen for the moment. Finally, he hissed out one last breath, and was still.

Imp didn't move. She stared at his face without really seeing it, thinking about the past.

She was only roused by the sound of screaming from outside.

* * *

[AN: whoops! This chapter and the next are the reason for the M rating! Imp is the second scariest Undersider and I'll fight anyone who claims otherwise. **Edit** : An earlier version of this chapter was uploaded by mistake between Dec 10 and 14. That's since been rectified! Imp's first blood message got deleted somehow so that's back, amongst some minor proofreading errors.]


	16. 3,3

Anita was following things upstairs with her sensor power, ready at a moment's notice to drain whatever was a serious threat to Imp – or, if necessary, deploying her _other_ talents. Most of all though, she was waiting to feel Heartbreaker disappear. She wanted to witness his death, in the only way she safely could.

She gathered from the sense of defeat that it was all but finished when all thoughts of the present were driven out of her head with a single scarlet urge: _kill everyone here._

Before she knew what she was doing, she was off the bed, running, mind moving fast. Everyone except her was upstairs in Heartbreaker's rooms. Sam and Octave had already evacuated the remaining children, and that meant the kitchen was unoccupied. She found a good-sized knife, as long as her hand, and then took the stairs two at a time with unprecedented energy.

Imp would still be in dad's room, though he was dead now; she would be trapped. It had been Anita's last job to manage the wives, and she was still going to do that, albeit in a different way. After that, though, she had to kill Imp. That was going to be trickier, without her sensor. But there were better ways, subtler ways, to kill a stranger.

She reached the top floor and stumbled in surprise. All seven wives were there. All eyes turned to her. None of them moved. Anita stopped, gripping her knife, heart thumping. She remembered this feeling: certainty, _need_. They had to be dead. She had to hurt them. It was Clara; it was worse than Clara. There were so many of them.

Three of them were holding their breath, faces turning an ugly pink. That was something she should've expected; Flor had been through all the wives, after all. One of them was mumbling something to herself. One was singing; Anita didn't know the tune, didn't know French, but the woman's voice was hoarse with the force of her volume. But Marianna was closest, and loudest, and tears were streaming from her eyes, and she was screaming.

This was why she hated Flor. She reached out and stabbed Marianna in the chest: bone. Again: bone. Then, flesh that parted like water. Marianna staggered but didn't stop screaming her single sustained note. Anita stabbed again and again, feeling how the action relieved her, quietened the murderous urge, until eventually Marianna collapsed, still trying to scream. Anita stood, panting, until she bled out. Around her, the other women collapsed as each of them ran out of air. That was her opening; she urged herself to move, but she couldn't seem to catch her breath.

 _What's your name? I'm Clara. Do you want to play?_

Marianna had blue eyes in pale skin and long blond hair and plump lips and she wasn't Clara, but Anita was the same person as she'd been that day—

 _Can't you talk? There's a boy in my class who's deaf. What school do you go to?_

She threw up, coughing the bile out of her, but she could feel the bloodlust in her own signals and she couldn't touch it, couldn't stop herself.

 _Mom was angry until you came. I should be angry too. Why can't I be angry?_

She grabbed at her other feelings, the grief, the fear, the guilt that wasn't guilt that _should_ have been guilt, and forced them all into her power, pushed them away. She calmed. She was going to kill the five remaining girls, and then Imp, and then herself. That was all she had to do.

One of the wives stirred. She had missed her opening. Groggily, the woman pushed herself up on a hand, raised her head and saw Anita. She screamed and her face twisted in rage and she launched herself up, crossing the distance before she could react and lashing at the girl's face with her nails. Anita brought up the knife too fast, missed torso and stabbed the woman in the underside of her jaw. The woman shrieked, before she was grabbed by someone else, who locked an elbow around her throat and pushed her against the banisters. Anita took a split-second to look around, and then ran for the next target.

She ignored the two locked in a grappling contest, tearing at each other with their long nails, blood matting their hair and running down their faces. She went straight to Louise, who was beating Sarah doggedly into a pulp. Blood was splattering with every hit, as Sarah flailed, long nails tearing at Louise's skin to no avail, as she pulled back her bruised fist and slammed it again into her stomach. Anita watched in morbid fascination as Sarah spat blood into Louse's eyes. It was the noise that was the worst bit, the shrieking, screams of pain and unrestrained snarls of fury.

Gritting her teeth, she stabbed Louise. The woman reared back, turning towards her and lashing out. Anita ducked and kicked her in the knee, sending her off-balance, then straightening again to stab her in the neck. Even as she went down in a spray of blood, she attempted to throw herself at Anita, but she easily dodged, then crouched to finish off Sarah too. She threw out her power quickly. _Four left_.

 _Three_. Someone had emerged victorious between the grappling pair: she was panting, shaking, and holding her arm around Marianna's neck to make sure she was dead. Anita crept up behind her and cut her neck open as well. Her sensor told her the job was done before she hit the ground.

 _Two._ She turned again, seeing the two women were starting to flag. The blonde was standing over the brunette, who had fallen to her knees. Anita stabbed the blonde in the back, and as she reeled, stepped over to plunge the knife into her. The remaining wife – _Lucy._ She knew this one. Barely older than Imp.

Lucy _did_ look like Clara.

 _That's funny. It looks like mom's head fell off._

She would have hesitated, if not for Heartbreaker's invective. She ripped the knife from the collapsing woman and lunged. Lucy's fists came up to meet her as she screamed, not caring to dodge the blade in favour of pummelling into Anita's chest and stomach, sending both of them falling backwards into the bleeding blonde on the floor, who immediately grabbed Anita's hair and started pulling her head back. Anita kept stabbing as Lucy's blows grew weaker, even as her chest ached and every breath sent a blaze of pain over her torso, and eventually she was rewarded as the girl fell limply over her, only faintly attempting to slap at her arm.

Teeth sank into her neck from behind and Anita realised the woman she was lying over had twisted around enough to grab and bite her. She stabbed blindly behind her, the arms loosened, and Anita rolled off her, breathing hard. She put Lucy out of her misery with a quick cut. At the same time, she pulled out the pain. It would make her feel better, later, to have given them that mercy.

 _I wonder why this doesn't hurt._

No, she couldn't focus on that, she couldn't afford to, Clara was dead and her last words weren't relevant now, they _weren't_. She sucked up everything but the urge again, held it inside her, opened the door to the bedroom. "Imp?" she called, injecting panic into her tone. "Imp, where are you? We have to go, now!"

Imp materialised mid-step, hurrying towards her. As soon as she appeared, Anita's power told her the location and released the blast.


	17. 3,4

_"No," he said, from where his head rested on her lap. "Only ever with my power."_

 _She ruffled his hair, though he swatted her hand away. "Dude, really? That's like masturbation. You're basically a virgin."_

 _"Basically is better than what you've got," he retorted._

 _"Some supervillains we are." She leaned back and sighed._

 _"Yeah," he agreed, "your brother's the only one who ever got tail."_

 _"What, you don't think...?" her voice trailed off as she realised she couldn't suggest any of their teammates._

 _"Tattletits says she can't do it. Permanent TMI. If Bitch has ever been in heat it doesn't show."_

 _"Maybe Taylor's had freaky bug sex with someone. Y'know, web him up in her lair and then devour him afterwards."_

 _Alec snorted. "I guess Grue is a pretty meaty—" He cut off as she grabbed his throat, choking the words before he could finish the innuendo._

 _"Parian and Foil," she interjected after letting him go. "They are_ definitely _sexing it up."_

* * *

 _The first time he saw her crying, she almost expected him to laugh. Or make fun of her. Or just run away. But instead he sat down next to her, and when she leaned on his shoulder, he didn't move. Skinship between them had become something easy, instinctive, but without expectations. He stayed there, unspeaking, not even looking at her, while she cried it out._

 _She knew he didn't know what had upset her; she hadn't told him. But he could make an educated guess. She wondered if that was why he was staying, even though she knew he'd have no idea what to do. He understood fuckwit parents. He understood running away from them. His base was hers to use as she needed – as was his shoulder to cry on, apparently._

 _It didn't last long. Anger overtook the despair quickly and she felt her expression harden, her lips pinch together, her fists clench. When she sat up, he turned his head, and then smirked. "You're either gonna throw me down the stairs, or throw me down on the bed."_

 _She smacked his arm. "You wish. We're going hunting."_

 _"Again?" he moaned, but got up to follow her just the same. "We scared off a skinhead last week. Surely that means a holiday?"_

 _"I'm pissed and I'm ready to cut someone," she retorted, exiting his base and turning down the street, relishing the cold night air. "Unless you want it to be you, we're gonna find me a Nazi."_

 _He complained the whole time, but he stood alongside her anyway._

* * *

 _As soon as she'd found out he didn't know, she'd picked a date. When he turned up at her flat, he actually raised his eyebrows in surprise. She'd gone at it like a total goof, with balloons, confetti and the biggest cake she could find, which was actually only the size of a normal sponge since the bakeries hadn't come back after Leviathan._

 _"You realise I don't fucking celebrate my birthday," he said._

 _"Well then I'm gonna fucking celebrate it," she replied. "I'll open your presents and eat your cake, and you can go be miserable in the corner."_

 _She hauled him inside by his arm, though he made a show of reluctance. She shut the door._

 _"Is this when Bitch bursts out of the cake and strips?"_

 _"If you wanted that you should've asked."_

 _He threw himself down on her sofa and waved a hand. "Where's my present from you, then?" He gave her a smirking glance. "Because if it's sex, I've gotta say I hope you kept the receipt."_

 _"This whole thing is the present, ya douche." She flopped down beside him. "Why don't you celebrate your birthday? Father Fuckboy not into that?"_

 _"Nah."_

 _She waited, drumming her feet against the side of the sofa. Eventually, he relented, heaving a dramatic sigh and explaining properly._

 _"He was into forcing triggers. Once a year, unless he got bored. He'd hit you with the terror, or get the other kids to do whatever horrible shit they could think of."_

 _He already knew the story of her trigger, her father, the gang. One of the few social codes he understood was that trigger stories were not casual conversation; he was paying her back today._

 _"Cherie, Cherish, liked playing the mastermind. I resisted her, but some of the others didn't. It's not that hard to give someone pleasure at violence, and when it's four or five kids, it gets ugly quick." He paused, then skipped the rest of the story. "I triggered trying to make her stop."_

 _She patted his knee. "Does that mean you don't want any cake?"_

 _"Fuck no. If I'm gonna do this emotional shit I'm getting the comfort food."_

* * *

 _Brian unmasked the second they were alone in the hospital._

 _There were deep, dark bags under his eyes, his skin was discoloured by sweat and grime, and his breathing was ragged. Nevertheless, his gaze was focused and unmoving._

 _She stared back at him. She knew he wanted her to talk, but she couldn't make herself care. Everything was distant. Her body was oversized, clumsy; she had shrunk to a tiny, hard kernel in her centre._

 _"It wasn't your—"_

 _She released her power before he could finish the lie. Masochistically, she watched him stutter over his next words, confused. She used to love doing that to him, seeing him lost, vulnerable in a way he had never been...before Bonesaw._

 _Also her fault._

 _Today she felt nothing as he frowned absently and walked away. There was no room for thinking about her brother. There was only the image of Alec dying, over and over in her mind._

 _She should probably get someone to look at the burns on her neck._

 _She stayed where she was for two hours._


	18. 3,5

Imp came to on the carpet, face down, soaked with tears. For several minutes she stayed where she was, trying to sort out her head. Grief, anger, aggression, fear, disappointment, longing, determination, gratitude, despair, and a hundred other emotions too nebulous and mixed-up to name were crammed inside her skull so tightly she thought it would burst. She wanted to stab someone, or herself, or maybe just Heartbreaker's corpse over and over. Or cry. Or roll over and never move again.

She eventually staggered to her feet. Anita was in the doorway, looking exhausted but intensely focused.

Imp held her power off, and Anita jumped and ran for her. _Charged_. Imp realised too late that she was holding a knife. She let her power go, but Anita's momentum carried on, and Imp's dodge wasn't quick enough. Blood started to drip onto the carpet from a deep gash on her arm. "Fuck!" she swore.

Anita visibly jumped, but Imp pushed past her, looking for something to press over the wound. She stumbled through the doorway and then staggered in shock at the sight of the mauled corpses strewn over the landing. She pieced together the scene: bloody nails, scratches and bruises, contorted hateful expressions. They'd beaten each other to death, although some of them also had knife wounds. She turned back towards Anita, who was still standing in the master bedroom, looking confused. There were bloodstains on her sweater.

 _Did Heartbreaker do something? Did someone trigger? Or has Anita just snapped?_

Anita had triggered when Heartbreaker had been forcing her to torture a girl her age. Sam had already told her that. She'd taken the emotions of everyone around her in one great rush, and then he'd turned on someone else.

Imp thought back to when the girl had approached her before she'd blacked out. The sudden rush of... _everything_. Of Camille's sudden strength of will; of Eric's implacable anger; of Anita's own determination when by rights she should have fallen apart, on the tiles of the second-floor bathroom.

"You sneaky bitch," she muttered. She appeared to Anita, and as the girl charged again, Imp felt a rush of fear. She let herself fade out again. That fear wasn't hers.

"You're a goddamn blaster, aren't you?" she exclaimed. "Oh, god damn it, why are capes so freaking secretive?"

She pulled the rope from her bag, tripped Anita up, took the knife and tied her to the banisters. Then she reappeared. "Sprog," she said, hands on hips, "you've been holding out on me."

Anita struggled furiously, breathing hard.

"You know you spoke earlier, right? You actually spoke. I thought you did _not_ speak. What happened?"

"I have to kill us," Anita groaned out, her desperate tone at odds with her hideous aggressive expression, the rope she was straining against with all her might, her furiously kicking legs.

"Aw, really? You know that's just dad talking."

"I know," she replied. "Still."

"Yeah, fair enough. So this is what, some kind of anxiety override?"

"Not scared," Anita forced out. "No room."

"So, troubleshoot with me." Imp sat down opposite her, crossing her legs. "If I left, would you chase me?"

Anita shook her head. Then nodded. "Would plan to. Eventually."

"Right. How soon?"

Somewhere among the thrashing, Anita managed to shrug. "Could put it off. Indefinitely."

"So...can I take you with me?"

"No!" Anita shouted. "No, stay the hell away—sorry. Sorry." Her voice cracked, though her struggling didn't abate.

"Alright. Look, this is a toughie. If I leave you alone, are you gonna be okay?"

Unexpectedly, Imp felt a pang of regret as she saw Anita's eyes fill with tears, even as her wrist started bleeding from the rope burn. Her dark curls were matted with blood, her teeth were bared, and still she strained to reach Imp and hurt her, helpless against a command given by a man who was already dead.

And _still_ , Imp thought, she looked so much like Alec it made her chest hurt.

"Maybe if Flor..." she thought aloud, but Anita was shaking her head violently. "Don't trust her, eh? I guess that's fair." She cast an eye over the other wives, thinking of the screaming. Damn kid. "So you said to kill _us_. If I leave, are you gonna...?"

Anita shook her head again. "You first," she forced out. "Then me."

Imp sighed. "Well then me being around just sucks for both of us, doesn't it?"

Despite her efforts at sealing her emotions away, Anita felt herself cracking. "Please don't," she said, though neither of them were sure what she was begging for.

Imp got to her feet and sighed again. "I owe you, kiddo," she said. "I really do."

It damn near broke her heart, but she walked away.

* * *

[AN: Sorry for the late update! Epilogue on the 23rd.]


	19. Epilogue

[AN: the promised epilogue is three days late because your author has been ill, my apologies.]

* * *

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* * *

 **Topic: Heartbreaker down!**

 **In: Boards ► News ► Events ►Canada**

 **EarToTheGround** (Original Poster) (Veteran Member)

Posted on August 18th, 2012:

Holy sh*t! The Guild made it official last night. In completely unknown circumstances, the body of Heartbreaker, aka Nikos Vasil, has been recovered from a country house near Montreal. Seven women were also found dead at the scene. A small group of unaffiliated paramilitaries and capes were guarding the house and have been detained on suspicion of master influence.

Stories here, here, here and here.

 **(Showing page 12 of 46)**

 **► homacker**

FUCK YES! He always said taking him out would lead to suicide bombings all across the country but there's been nothing. Was it all some bluff?

 **► Angel666**

I'm inclined to just be grateful this was all taken care of. My niece got Heartbroken back in '05. Took basically her whole village with her when the authorities moved in. Eight casualties is ridiculously low, even accounting for the coming backlash.

 **► 10pin**

Shit, Angel. Condolences. There's gotta be hundreds of people getting closure from this.

It's over.

 **► 10pin**

Speaking of backlash, they're not talking about that at all. Rumours work suggest incidents have happened, but fewer than expected. How would we even know?

 **► homacker**

Has anyone seen pics? I won't link them here, its graphic, but they're out there. Heartbreaker was mutilated. Pretty serious stuff. Definitely a murder, but he didn't have a kill order, so it was a vigilante. No word from Guild/PRT if they're looking for someone, no word on where the rest of the household has gone, not enough incidents to suggest they're all on the loose

Anyone else feel like something else is going on?

 **► Angel666**

Like I said, I don't want to question it. I'm here to say, good riddance, let's focus on the lives he ruined now

 **► Viva_la_Alexandria**

Stay strong, Angel666. Maybe unfollow this thread for ur wellbeing

10pin/homacker I get this is suspicious. i'm not sure tho. There was trouble in the city for the week or two before his death & Sunbeam from the Guild said she had some even earlier than that. She didn't say much but implied ~somebody~ intervened with what woulda been a snatch. This was planned.

Who could've beaten masters like that though? Dragon?

 **► NotGallant (Unverified Cape)**

He had it coming we can all agree. One of his kids joined the fucking S9

 **► homacker**

That's exactly my point – where are they?

They'd better be in good hands or some serious trouble is coming.

 **► SamVHB**

Why not both?

* * *

 **Topic: New faces in Yellowknife**

 **In: Boards ► News ► Events ►Canada**

 **JeffMonmouth** (Original Poster) (Veteran Member)

Posted on September 2nd, 2012:

Two new sightings in Yellowknife:

• Benign rogue by the name of Soothe, has been touring hospitals. Striker: drains pain by touch. First spotted August 18th. All-white body suit, short silver cape, boots and mask. Clearly a home-made costume – her name is written in what looks like a silver marker. Guild are trying to make contact (statement here) but she's basically ignoring them.

• Indie villain. Unknown name. All black street clothes. Shaker/blaster (?), victims can't give any info except 'it hurts like hell' (story here). So far has been sighted on a couple robberies, some muggings.

 **(Showing page 18 of 18)**

 **► T Wrecks**

Replied on September 3rd, 2012:

OP That must be the lamest striker power ever

Nevergreen shut up

 **► Nevergreen**

Replied on September 3rd, 2012:

All I'm saying is there's a connection. Two capes showing up at the same time in a quiet city? Similar builds, opposite colour schemes, never speaking. My bet is on twins. Good twin, evil twin, yin and yang, right?

 **► MojoMadness**

Replied on September 3rd, 2012:

 **User received a temp ban for this post: do not speculate on the civilian identities of capes.  
**

 **► lISABER**

Replied on September 3rd, 2012:

Dude you can't say that

Edit: told you you can't say that

 **► Poltergeist**

Replied on September 3rd, 2012:

Is pain really an emotion? /pedantry

 **► NotGallant** (Unverified Cape)

Replied on September 4th, 2012:

I'm the shaker. I'm Fickle. And I'm not Heartbreaker's kid so shut up.

 **► CarabelloCarl**

Replied on September 4th, 2012:

Oh hi! Nice username too haha

 **► TRJ**

Replied on September 4th, 2012:

I dunno isn't it kind of disrespectful? Anyway, welcome Fickle! Why the choice of cape name? Is that a hint about your effects?

 **► Nevergreen**

Replied on September 4th, 2012:

But what's your connection to soothe?

* * *

 **Private message from NarwhalOfficial** (Verified Cape) (Guild) **:**

 **NarwhalOfficial:** Hi Fickle. Can we talk?

 **Private message from SamVHB:**

 **SamVHB:** Here's the monument

 **NotGallant:** thanks. im set up now.

 **SamVHB:** Where?

 **NotGallant:** yellowknife. you?

 **SamVHB:** back in Brockton Bay

 **SamVHB:** Quiet here. Imp has territory. Flor restless. Martina still nursing.

 **SamVHB:** One of the babies is Annie. Other is Jean.

 **NotGallant:** oh.

 **SamVHB:** Imp says you're always welcome, if you're careful. And that she owes you.

 **NotGallant:** yeah. i owe her too

 **NotGallant:** if anything major happens, im there.

[AN: thus concludes this little fic of feel-fuckery and dick-stabbing. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. If you enjoyed this adventure, please consider giving me a follow – this won't be my last _Worm_ fic.]


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